


easy

by eurydicule



Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, no point no plot we struggle to study characters like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 06:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19987891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydicule/pseuds/eurydicule
Summary: Maybe, and this is not the first time the thought enters his mind, maybe his father would understand. How would Grizz know. It is difficult to gauge these things with so little data to go on, to judge the present outcome of a conversation he has scheduled somewhere in the distant future. Grizz talks to his father about everything, politics, football, the politics of football. How Luke talks about Helena and Helena talks about Luke. That he would prefer to get into a college he is on a waitlist on rather than take up the offer he has already got for a football scholarship. How his mother manages to harvest globe artichokes this late into the season. How much he misses having his older brothers around. But this is something he cannot bring up. Certainly not at 11:30pm on a school night.





	easy

So this is what it is like.

_Easy._

Grizz is concentrating on his World History assignment, pouring over the books on the codification of cultural traditions the library has to offer. It is not like the material is scarce, but it all feels like it has been done before. He wants to surprise Mrs Bartos with something new. At least he is working out pointers for what to look into later. Perhaps, if he asks nicely, he can convince Jonathan to look up stuff for him on JStore again and send him some articles.

Grizz finishes his last annotation, then puts the pen down. His throat is dry, so he reaches for his water bottle – and notices Clark pointedly staring at something just over his right shoulder.

“She’s looking at you.”

“Who is?”

“The Junior,” Clark says. He is still staring over Grizz’ shoulder.

“Her name is Carla,” Luke offers.

Jason puts down his empty bottle to nudge Luke in the ribs.

“See? I _told_ you. She was asking Shoe about him in Trig, too, apparently. Lucky you, bro. She’s fit!”

Luke catches Grizz’ eye from across the table.

“Why don’t you bring her on Saturday?”

Because I do not want to, Grizz does not say. He had meant to feign having to look after the twins this weekend.

Carla is nice. She did help him out with a Spanish assignment once when she really did not have to. She was very gracious about his pronunciation. Carla is kind, too, Grizz knows, would have probably run for something on the student council and made a difference if it had been a proper vote and not a mere presumably democratic reiteration of their school’s popularity ranks.

None of which matters, of course.

So instead he says: “Really? You think Harry won’t mind?”

“As if Harry cares,” Jason laughs.

“You should totally ask her to come. It’ll be fun!”

“Alright.”

Grizz puts the pen in between the pages so he can pick up where he is leaving off, then gets up from his chair. Clark stares at him, caught off-guard.

“Now? You’re doing it _right now_?”

Band-Aids, right, Grizz does not say.

“Yeah,” he says instead.

Makes his way over to where Carla is sitting surrounded by a group of her friends without looking back.

“Carla, hi. What’s up?”

“Hi, Grizz. Nothing much. Just … homework.”

She winces.

“Do you have any plans for the weekend?”

The girl sitting next to Carla drops her pencil. It lands on the floor with a clanking sound that would make Grizz laugh if he was not so focussed on doing this right, on not causing any harm. He gives himself a relaxed air, affable, but weighs every word as best as he knows how to (which is not much).

Carla shakes her head, no. She looks a little surprised, but not in a bad way.

“Harry … you know Harry in my year, right?”

The girl sitting next to Carla curses under her breath, then ducks under the table to retrieve her pencil when Carla gives her an exasperated side-eye.

“Well, he’s throwing a party this weekend. Nothing major, just some fun after the St Anselm’s game on Saturday. … And I was wondering whether you would like to go with me.”

“I – uh. Saturday? … Saturday after the – yeah. Yes, that sounds great, Grizz.”

“Cool,” Grizz smiles at her, really smiles, not looking at any of her friends, only at her, as if willing them to pick this up. This is happening. This is _good_ for her. He forces himself to believe this, he is not doing something wrong. “I’ll come find you on the bleachers after, okay? Just text me where you are.”

And just like that, he is taking Carla to Harry’s party. Very decidedly not going out with Carla. But that is a minor detail lost on Clark, who gives him an enthusiastic high-five when Grizz gets back to his seat. Lost on Luke, who looks so pleased Grizz would like to punch him. Lost on Jason, who now suddenly finds himself propelled into action, pulling out his phone to send Erika that long overdue text.

Just like that, Grizz is taking someone to a party. And it is not a big deal. No one really cares.

So this is what it would be like.

 _Easy_.

########

But this is what it is like now.

_Shameful._

Grizz is not looking at Clark. He goes through practice as usual, laughs at Shoe’s usual jokes, takes the team through the same plays, goes to Luke’s for dinner after like he always does. But he is not looking at Clark. He cannot look at Clark.

Not after last night.

He cannot look at Clark’s hands.

Grizz goes for a run after he gets home from Luke’s, tells his father he just feels a little nervous about an upcoming Spanish test, nothing a little exercise will not fix. He circles through the woods behind his house until all he can think about is that his body is tired and that his lungs hurt and that he needs to stretch when he gets home. All body and no mind, but in the right way this time, a way that is exhausting and consuming to the exclusion of any thought. No ideas, no words, no memories of dreams that leave him sweating in his pyjamas, so _so_ ashamed. No need to engage with anything substantial at all. Just reacting to his surroundings, branches hanging low, little holes opening up in the ground, the night air in his lungs. No thinking about Clark’s hands. Grizz pushes himself to do two more rounds before he goes home.

“Big test, then, huh?”

His father hands him a glass of water when Grizz pulls the kitchen door to.

You have no idea, Grizz does not say.

Maybe, and this is not the first time the thought enters his mind, maybe his father would understand. How would Grizz know. It is difficult to gauge these things with so little data to go on, to judge the present outcome of a conversation he has scheduled somewhere in the distant future. Grizz talks to his father about everything, politics, football, the politics of football. How Luke talks about Helena and Helena talks about Luke. That he would prefer to get into a college he’s on a waitlist on rather than take up the offer he has already got for a football scholarship. How his mother manages to harvest globe artichokes this late into the season. How much he misses having his older brothers around. But this is something he cannot bring up. Certainly not at 11:30pm on a school night.

So instead he says: “It’s just nerves. I know I’m prepared. … Thanks for the water. You did not have to wait up for me.”

“Just making sure you’re okay. … I’m turning in, then. Sleep well, buddy.”

“Night, dad.”

He gets a text from Nathaniel the next day, _just checking in, is everything alright?_

So perhaps his father had not taken his word for it after all.

But Grizz is looking over Clark’s English Lit essay at that point, which is difficult without looking at him, and his mind is preoccupied with not thinking about what happened. He really does not need this right now. So he just texts back _Yeah, all good. Hate the condicional antepospretérito though. Have you proposed to Poonam yet?_ and figures that should be enough to reassure all sides. Resolves, too, for the thousandth time, to be more careful.

Grits his teeth when Clark leans into him, scowling, “I asked you to proofread it, not to write me a new one,” as if he is not grateful. Grits his teeth so hard because this is not happening, he is not letting one flimsy outgrowth of his unconscious dictate that he is now going to be awkward around one of his best mates for the rest of high school. Grizz refuses.

He hates how this whole thing makes him feel.

It begs a whole host of other questions, mainly that if taking out all the I-did-not-mean-its and it-would-never-happens and the dream state, would it still feel the same way? Would he still feel like this if he hadn’t been dreaming about Clark’s hands but about someone else’s? There’s an AP English Lit voice in his head, maybe Ms Morden’s, maybe Cassandra’s, maybe his own, years of honing literary analysis skills pushing through to the surface. The imagery seems laughably easy to decode. But Grizz does not listen to that voice, not prepared to go there. Instead he finds, and it sucks, that he probably would feel the same way, which makes him go for a run that night too, but only after his father has gone to bed. He stretches the run even longer this time, suppressing the voice, reacquainting himself with the branches hanging low, the holes opening up in the ground, the air still cold in his lungs. There is something else in the air too, quite faint, some sort of smell. Perhaps a burst sewage pipe somewhere. Grizz pushes himself to exhaustion, wills himself to forget and knows, deep down, that he will not be able to shake this, a dawning realisation he is not prepared for, not yet, not like this.

So this is what it would be like.

 _Shameful_.

########

So this is what it is like.

 _Horrendous_.

Grizz sits next to their pile of shoes every night, the one that drives their mother mad but that is a source of pride to all the Visser boys. Matthew’s and Benjamin’s atop of the pile, impossible to tell which pair belongs to whom. He just sits on the floor and sends text after text, Nate, his father, Joe, his mother, Benji, Matt. No response at all. From no one. Not since they got here, whatever this place is.

Grizz leans against the church door, trying not to fall asleep in the afternoon heat. He has got a nice view from the back, so he is sympathetic when he sees Mickey slowly nodding off, only to be unceremoniously shoved awake by Nathan, the Junior cornerback, sitting next to him. Grizz watches Erika fussing over her hair, her eyes on Cassandra the entire time. Her attention does not seem to waver, but she is fidgeting, pulling her hair up then taking it down again. They are all fighting the stuffy air inside, the lingering smell of beer-soaked carpets. Grizz watches Harry slouching in his seat. Campbell is not leaving Harry’s side these days and it is making Grizz nervous. Then again, that is not really anything out of the ordinary. Even before, the Eliot brothers had a habit of making him nervous, one way or another. So maybe the bad part is not that Campbell is whispering to Harry, but what is going on in the front. Cassandra, of course it is her, nothing else makes sense, is talking about potential food shortages, possible power failures and how they have to share, now. Then Campbell pulls a gun. Grizz finds himself on the floor, Luke next to him shooting him a quick glance, stunned, _you ok?_ , before they both look up, Luke’s eyes searching for Helena, Grizz searching for something, anything, that will keep him from just staying there, lying on the floor. He gets up because he has to, because that’s how things are now.

Grizz sits in the cafeteria, eating a vaguely comforting, actually quite alright tasting chili like it is every other Monday. Except that Jason is not with them because he is on duty guarding the grocery store. Except that Helena is quiet because there were no points made at church yesterday that she tries to get the boys' opinion on because she was the one holding the sermon. Except that their food was made by people Grizz knows by name and possibly sat next to in AP Environmental Science not two weeks ago.

None of this is normal and the fact that it is beginning to feel normal is utterly, utterly terrifying.

This is what it is actually like.

 _Horrendous_.

########

So this is what it is like.

 _Shameful_.

Grizz lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, cataloguing the comforting sounds he misses: his mother getting in very late from New York on Fridays, stairs creaking; Benji playing the guitar down the hall, painstakingly piecing his way through the verse of a song until he gets it right; Matt hitting a bouncing ball against the wall until somebody yells at him to please, _please_ stop it. Instead, there are all of these new unfamiliar noises, ten other people he knows practically nothing about in the house, brushing their teeth, listening to the same songs over and over, chatting to each other in hushed voices to fight off sleep. Perhaps this would be easier to take if he had not received unexpected Guard privileges consisting of his own room. Perhaps this would be easier if he was not alone. But he is.

Never more so than after prom, having watched the others slip out in orderly pairs. Helena and Luke the first ones to leave, then Jason and Erika, Erika rolling his eyes at him as she shouldered Jason, drunk and clingy, out of the room. Gwen had hugged him before she left with Clark, thanked him for helping her organise the dance. And then Sam had left, which had been when the trouble had started, because once Sam had gone, there was no one left to stop Grizz from analysing what had just happened, what he had just done. He had hung around a little bit, paranoid, not wanting to give anyone the wrong idea, but had slunk off eventually, saying goodnight to Cassandra, realising that no one really cared what he was doing. Everyone else too drunk or too preoccupied with each other or simply enjoying themselves too much to take notice of what Grizz Visser was up to, who he was talking to, what was going on. So Grizz had left.

Now he cannot fall asleep.

Shame is building in the pit of his stomach, slow and hot, and his mind is replaying the scene over and over. How he sat down next to Sam, made an utter fool out of himself and ruined a proper impression he had been crafting for a while now.

He does not know what possessed him, does not know why he felt prompted to do it tonight. Or rather, he does know, of course he does, but he would rather not know just now.

He would rather not think about this feeling of inevitability of being pulled towards Sam (because it is not inevitable, Grizz knows it is not, statistically alone this makes no sense whatsoever, not a chance), the relief flooding him when Sam graciously engaged with his inept efforts of making conversation, how Sam made him laugh despite this incomprehensible mess they are in (and he does not even know the worst of it yet). Grizz does not want to think about how he sometimes struggles to get out of bed in the morning for a full ten minutes because it feels pointless when he does not know anything about the people he loves anymore. Does not know where they are, if they are okay, what they think happened to him, who is going to drive Benji to his swim meet-ups now, whether Joe is coming down from Vermont to study for the bar, who is going to check on the artichokes with his mother while listening to her subway stories. Does not want to think about how suddenly breathing gets just that little bit easier because he sees Sam signing to Becca, who looks tired and sullen, pointing out something on a poster, making her laugh. Or because he watches Sam watching Cassandra, hanging back after her speeches, making sure that she knows he agrees with her, is with her on all of her decisions. Most of all, Grizz does not want to think about how it feels like he’s reaching breaking point of being alone even when he is with Luke and Jason and Clark, how things have to change, now.

That it is all of this that pushed him to do it. Of course he knows.

But this is not like him. He did not use to be like this. He used to be fine, perhaps not great but definitely better than so many others. Things were alright the way they were. It was enough. His friends would come to him for advice. His older brothers would ask him for his opinion, his younger brothers would trust him to find solutions to their problems. He thought he knew himself better than this, thought he would just go on, just a little while longer. Not inconveniencing anyone, just figuring this out by himself like he has always done. But not anymore. Suddenly, it seems, that is not enough anymore.

And this is what it is like.

 _Shameful_.

########

Except …

suddenly it is not. Suddenly it is … _easy_.

Sam is asleep. Sleepy, at least, a heavy weight by his side that does not stir. His warmth seeping into Grizz. Grizz’ thoughts are coming slowly now. Earlier, it had felt like he would never be able to shut up again, the words and stories just pouring out and Sam just – letting him talk. For the first time in a long while, perhaps since Joe moved out and took those long evenings of horsing around and shooting the breeze on the football field with him, Grizz is keenly aware of being more feeling than thought in a way that does not feel dangerous. More body than mind without a sense of betrayal.

Sam moves his head, so not asleep then, and the smile on his lips is such a precise reflection of what Grizz is feeling that it feels like something inside of him is going to tear in half.

 _You good_ , Sam asks and Grizz nods without thinking. Signs it then, too, because this is one of the few things he actually knows by heart now.

_I’m good. You?_

Sam kisses him.

_I’m not too heavy for you?_

“I was on the football team, you know? … I think I can handle this.”

“You were on the football team?” Sam feigns a shocked expression, then pointedly looks at the framed pictures of Grizz in the middle of a game mounted on the shelves, the trophies littered in between the stacks of his books. “You don’t say!”

Grizz shoves him, just a little, and Sam pushes back, kisses him again.

The slow thoughts fill up Grizz’ mind, fog that wavers and contracts, a lot of it. There is a lot there he knows he is going to have to sift through later. But he already knows that shame most definitely is not part of it.

So perhaps this is what it is going to be like now.

 _Easy_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! :)


End file.
